


Gimli and the Beast

by Morvidra



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Beauty and the Beast, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-21
Updated: 2017-03-28
Packaged: 2018-07-25 20:11:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 19,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7546199
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Morvidra/pseuds/Morvidra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gimli’s father Gloin was supposed to be away for several months on his latest trading trip, so it came as a shock to Gimli and his siblings when Gloin turned up unexpectedly back at the mountain, with a startling tale of his encounter with a hideous Beast in the forest of Mirkwood. To save his father, Gimli insists on returning in Gloin’s place, but there are many secrets still to be discovered.</p><p>Beauty and the Beast AU</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [2000GigolasFics](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/2000GigolasFics) collection. 



> **Prompt:**  
>   
> 
> Rewrite Beauty and the Beast with Legolas and Gimli as the title characters. It's up to you which is Beauty and which is the Beast, (but bonus points if the beast is Legolas). XD

_Once upon a time, in Middle-Earth, an Elven-Prince lived in a shining palace in the woodland. Although he had everything his heart desired, the prince was selfish, cruel, and unkind._

_But one winter’s night, an old beggar came to the door of the palace, seeking shelter from the bitter cold. Repulsed by their haggard appearance, the prince turned them from the door, but the old beggar warned him not to be deceived by appearances, for true beauty lies within._

_And when he rejected them for a second time, the old beggar’s disguise melted away to reveal a powerful wizard. The prince begged for forgiveness, but it was too late, for the wizard had seen that there was no love in his heart. And as punishment, they transformed him into a hideous Beast, and placed a powerful spell on the palace, the woods, and all who lived there._

_Revolted by his monstrous form, the prince shut himself within the palace, with an enchanted mirror as his only window on the world outside. If he could learn to love another, and win their love in return, then the spell would be broken. If not, he would remain a Beast forever._

_As the centuries passed, he fell into despair and lost all hope, for who could ever learn to love a Beast?_

@>\--;----


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we meet Gimli and his family.

Glóin checked his list for the third time. Even though he’d been making trading journeys since he was barely out of childhood, he’d never lost his fear that something important would be left behind, only to be remembered when the caravan was too far down the road to come back. By this point, the lists were habit, ingrained on his memory as deeply as his children’s birthdays – although he had a list of those too, just in case.

The children in question were no longer technically children, although Glóin had expressed doubts about whether they could be called _responsible_ adults. (Their uncle Óin would echo this sentiment with rather more force.) Still, they had all three somehow survived childhood, and entered into professions and crafts that they loved, so he supposed they must have _some_ sense…

On the heels of his thought came a loud crash from the adjoining workshop. As it was followed by the sound of conversation rather than screams or yelling, Glóin’s parental senses automatically classified it as not a crisis. Still, he muttered a curse – the interruption had made him lose his place on the list he was checking through. There was nothing for it – he would have to start over.

~*~*~

“It’s hopeless,” moaned Gróin, head in hands. “I’ll never get it right, never.”

“Nonsense, of course you will,” his older sister Gelís said soothingly. Inwardly, she was rolling her eyes at her brother, and wondering whether they had to go through this _every_ time, but no hint of that was visible on her calm face.

“No. Not this time. I won’t.” Gróin tugged at his coppery hair until it stuck out as much as his beard. Both had originally been confined in silver clasps, but by this point there was as much hair outside the clips as inside. “It’s just junk – a complete hunk of junk. I might as well give up.”

Gelís punched his shoulder lightly. “Don’t be daft,” she said, injecting her voice with cheerfulness. “I mean, it certainly looks like a useless pile of levers, and springs, and… whatever those strange things with teeth are…”

“Cogs,” Gróin said in a muffled voice.

“Right. Cogs. Anyway, my _point_ is—” She stopped, having got lost. “Actually, what was my point?”

“Your point was that, although it looks like a pile of unconnected scraps and oddities to us, to its creator it looks like what it is: the birth of an idea.” 

The voice came from the corner of the workroom, where the third sibling had been sitting, quiet and almost forgotten, writing desk in his lap. Now he looked up, revealing dark eyes blazing with an inner fire to match an even fierier beard, and gestured with a quill pen, held in a hand that bore ink-stains on top of axe-calluses.

“You aren’t going to be beaten by a mere piece of metal, brother,” Gimli said. “You will master it this time, as you do every time, and produce a work of engineering that will set the world in awe of dwarven craft.” He smiled suddenly. “Why, I’d wager you’ll have it fixed before dinner!”

“And then Father will take it to the great markets, where it’ll win first prize and gain a whole lot more commissions for you,” Gelís added, striking a more practical note.

Gróin’s head lifted. “You really think so?”

“We always did,” Gelís said softly.

Gimli nodded his agreement. Then he added, wickedly, “A certainty of death, and a small chance of success…”

Gróin and Gelís both laughed involuntarily at Gimli’s sly reference to their childhood joke. The laughter seemed to shake the last of Gróin’s grey cloud away, and he surged to his feet.

“Well then, what are we waiting for?” he completed the old jest, sounding buoyant. “I’ll have this thing fixed in no time!”

As Gróin disappeared again inside his contraption – pausing only to tie his hair back securely once more – his siblings shared a complicit glance. Gimli winked at his older sister, who grinned back covertly. The two were used to shoring up their middle brother’s confidence when it ebbed – so much so that they fell into the pattern without conscious thought. Gróin was a gifted inventor, but there was something in him that could leave him nearly paralysed with indecision and self-doubt.

Gimli, on the other hand…

Gelís turned her thoughtful gaze onto her youngest brother, who had returned to his writing. Gimli was in some ways the quietest of Glóin’s three children – as a poet, he spent much of his time writing, or reading the writings of others, which he devoured at a rate of several each week, when he could get them. But he was also a warrior, wielding his axe with a strength and skill that placed him among the elite fighters of the mountain.

Gelís knew – they all knew – that Gimli composed poems in his head during his axe-dances: those practice routines that kept a warrior fit and ready for battle, practiced so often they could be done without thought, or while half-asleep. She didn’t _quite_ believe Gimli’s assertion that he also wrote poems during battles… but she had learned it was best not to underestimate her youngest brother.

Wrinkling her nose, Gelís sighed silently. She loved both her brothers, but their impracticality could drive her to frustration. Usually she could put up with it in between her absences on trading trips, but this time – well, this time she was going to be at home for quite a while. Oh, she knew their father’s reasoning for going on this trip alone. She even _agreed_ with it – they had, in fact, made the decision together. But facing the prospect of long months of being the sensible one …

She shook off her momentary fit of gloom. Ah well. Somebody had to be.

Gelís decided to go and see what their father was doing. Knowing him, he was probably re-packing his saddlebags again.

~*~*~

“And what would you all like me to bring you this time?” their father asked around a mouthful of bacon over dinner that night. 

“A leather-bound account book,” Gelís said promptly.

Glóin looked at his daughter. “An account book? Really?” The sarcasm fairly dripped from his voice, although Gróin was pretty sure it was feigned. 

Gelís shrugged. “We need a new one.”

“Yes, but I wanted to bring you something for yourself!” Gróin exclaimed. “An account book would be for the business. Wouldn’t you like some ribbons… some gems?”

Gróin nearly choked on his bread at the thought of Gelís wearing ribbons. Beside him, Gimli was openly smirking, clearly having similar thoughts.

“I would say,” Gelís answered after a moment of stunned silence, “that, since I do the accounts for the family _and_ the business, an account book would be a far more useful present for me than any… _ribbons_.” Her lip curled slightly at the word. “And I would certainly appreciate it more,” she added.

Glóin sighed. “I know, I know. It’s just… ach, there’s no romance to an account book.”

“And a good thing too!” Gelís was getting impatient with the conversation, Gróin could tell. “If it were romantic, I wouldn’t want it.”

Gróin nodded to himself. His sister was not a romantic person in any sense, and unlike Gróin, she had no desire to be otherwise. Occasionally Gróin had cursed his own nature. He knew he was quick to worry and slow to believe in himself, and he was never comfortable around crowds or loud noises – and the combination had made it extremely difficult to make friends, let alone anything more. But Khira… Khira seemed to understand…

“Well then, an account book you shall have,” Glóin said, making a note on the list in front of him, which was headed _ITEMS TO BRING BACK_. “Now then, Gróin – what would you wish me to bring you back from the great markets?”

Gróin felt his face freeze. He didn’t know – he hadn’t _thought_ – what did he want? Nothing too technical (his father wasn’t mechanically minded), and he couldn’t ask for experimental materials because he never knew where his experiments would lead. Besides, he could get all of that right here in the mountain.

Books? Khira liked books, although Gróin wasn’t a great reader – unless he was researching for one of his inventions, anyway. But Glóin wouldn’t be likely to find any rare engineering treatises at the market.

Gróin was aware that he had paused too long before answering the question, and now everyone was looking at him. Even though it was only his family, he felt his face flush. “Lemon sweets,” he answered at random.

“Lemon sweets,” Glóin repeated, sounding a little perplexed, but he forbore to comment. “That’d be the jellied sort rolled in fine sugar, then?”

Gróin nodded, swallowing. “If – if you find any… I wouldn’t want you to go out of your way…”

“Well, I’ll keep an eye out,” Glóin said briskly, writing a short note on the list. “Now then, Gimli! Come, my poet lad – what can I find to gladden your heart?”

Glad to be released from the focus of attention, Gróin shot a brief glance at his brother. Gimli’s mouth was quirked in a half-grin, and he looked – well, ‘fey’ was the word that sprang to Gróin’s mind.

“Father – bring me a rose.”

There was another moment of stunned silence.

“Not a plant-blossom,” Gimli added after a moment. “Find me the finest, most unusual, most beautiful rose that was ever crafted.” His eyes gleamed, and Glóin’s glowed back at him, and for a moment they looked more alike than ever.

“Now there’s a challenge!” Glóin said happily. He wrote a final note on his list. Gróin caught a glimpse just before his father stuffed it back into a pocket.

At the end of the list was written: “A rose fit for a dwarf”.

@>\--;----

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The original fairy-tale has Beauty as the youngest of six or seven children. Disney went to the other extreme and made Belle an only child. I've compromised here and borrowed Robin McKinley's idea of three siblings.
> 
> Incidentally, Gróin was named after his grandfather. (He's heard all the jokes already...)  
> 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Gloin leaves... and returns.

Gimli set down his quill, smiling in satisfaction – and only then noticed the time. 

He swore, and leapt to his feet, nearly oversetting the inkwell as he did so. It rattled around on its base, and Gimli swore again, but managed to get hold of the bottle and set it firmly down before any extra ink had spilled on the paper. It would have been the ultimate irony, he thought as he raced for the door, if he had in his haste destroyed the very work that had made him hurry in the first place.

Not that he was late. Not yet. Not quite.

Gimli’s boots sent up sparks as he rounded the corner. He ran past the marketplace (lifting a hand in acknowledgement to Gróin’s sweetheart Khira as he passed her scribe’s booth) then went on through the tunnel, and finally made it down to the courtyard, where (with any luck) his father would still be readying the cart. Gimli scanned the crowd frantically, searching for his father, his siblings…

Ah! Gimli breathed a sigh of relief as he spotted Glóin’s snow-white mane next to Gelís’ smooth coppery braids. He couldn’t see Gróin’s rust-tinted frizz anywhere, but that was unsurprising – his brother was uncomfortable with crowds, and had probably gone to seek a quieter part of the mountain.

“Sorry I’m late,” Gimli apologised, puffing to a stop.

“Ach, you’re not late, boy,” Glóin said, turning from his daughter. “After all, I haven’t left yet.”

“I did mean to be here earlier – but I couldn’t break off in the middle.” 

“As if I don’t know by now when you’re not to be interrupted,” Glóin said in feigned irritation. “What are you writing this time?”

Gimli frowned, scratching his head. He really didn’t like talking about his writing-in-progress, but his father sometimes forgot. “Probably nothing… it was an idea I had, but I’m not sure it’ll work. I’ll know in a few days – oh, but you’ll be gone by then,” he remembered, hearing his tone alter at the thought.

“Aye, so I’ll read it when I come back,” Glóin said gruffly, trying to mask his pride and failing utterly. “Or else you can tell me all about it if it doesn’t work – although I’ll be gone for long enough that you should have time to get it right!” 

He glanced at the shortening shadows. “Mind you, if I don’t leave now night’ll fall before I’m out of sight. Now be good, both of you, you hear?” He hugged Gimli tight, knocked foreheads with Gelís, and climbed up into the driver’s seat. “And look out for your brother,” he added as he picked up the reins. “Make sure that girl doesn’t break his heart, you hear me?”

“Da,” Gelís said through gritted teeth. “Gróin and Khira have been courting for ten years now. I don’t think they’re going to suddenly split apart while you’re gone.”

“Aye, well, just see they don’t,” Glóin said, grinning. “Mahal keep you all safe,” he called over his shoulder as the pony moved off.

“And you, Father!” Gelís and Gimli cried together. They ran forward to wave from the gate, but the pony was moving at a good clip, and it was not long before they could no longer make out their father’s figure on the front of the cart.

“Well, that’s that then,” Gelís said, turning away. Gimli strained his eyes for a little longer, but in the full light of day he could not see so far. Reluctantly, he turned back also.

“How long is the trip planned for this time?” Gimli asked as he and his sister walked back together.

“Three months, at least,” Gelís said, sounding a little sour to Gimli’s ears. She was probably annoyed that she hadn’t gone as well, he decided. “More likely it’ll be four, allowing for the state of the roads. But you know Father – if he hears of a good opportunity after the market, he’ll follow it.”

“Merchants,” Gimli declared, rolling his eyes.

Gelís elbowed him. “Watch your mouth, axe-boy.”

“I see Gróin didn’t come down,” Gimli observed, changing the subject. “I thought he might – he was fretting enough about his invention last night.”

“Oh, he was here earlier, before the place got so busy,” Gelís said. “Had to make sure his contraption was safely secured in the wagon, you know. But I’m not sure where he went after – I thought he’d gone home, actually, but if you didn’t see him… the library, maybe, or the temple, to meditate.”

“Probably the temple,” Gimli said confidently. “I saw Khira at work in the marketplace as I came down, and he usually only goes to the library if he’s meeting her there.”

“Must be meditating, then,” his sister agreed.

The two siblings walked on in silence for a while longer.

“You know,” Gimli said at last, “I couldn’t do it.”

“What? Meditate? I know – you’re the most restless person I’ve ever met.”

Gimli made a face. “No – court someone for an entire decade. If I loved someone, I wouldn’t be able to wait that long. I don’t know how Gróin and Khira do it.”

“Well, I’m the last person to ask about that,” Gelís said dryly. “But it seems to work for them.”

“I couldn’t wait so long,” Gimli repeated. “If I fell in love, I’d want more than that. I’d want adventure! Daring escapes! A prince in disguise!”

“As impatient as you are, if you were in love you’d be barely even friends before you were thinking of getting married,” Gelís told him. “And I will watch with great interest when that day comes.”

~*~*~

  
_Two-and-a-half months later…_

 

“Father!”

The cry came unbidden, torn from three throats all at once, as the siblings beheld the apparition in the doorway. Long before they had thought to see him again – weeks before even the most generous estimate of travel time – their father had returned. 

But they were held motionless for a long moment by his appearance: Glóin was pallid and visibly trembling. He clung with one hand to the door-frame, and his legs seemed barely able to hold him.

“Well,” he said – and his voice was a thin and fragile thread, wobbling in a futile effort to sound normal – “I’m home.”

The sound broke their paralysis, and his three children moved almost as a unit: Gelís and Gróin ran forward to support him, and Gimli dashed to pull up a chair. Glóin sank into it with a sigh in which relief, weariness and a boundless despair jostled for position. 

The siblings gathered around him, wordless in their shock, and drawing near to each other for the comfort of proximity. Glóin smiled at them – a faint, frail shadow of his usual smile – and Gimli noticed for the first time that his father’s left hand was held close to his chest, curled but not clenched tight, as if holding something precious.

“Father,” Gelís said, her voice cracking with worry, “Father, what has happened?”

“Are you ill?” Gróin asked, tense and fearful. “Are you hurt?”

“What’s in your hand?” Gimli inquired, his words and tone in sharp contrast to those of his siblings. He received their glares with equanimity, shrugging in a deliberately casual manner. “What? I can ask.”

Glóin’s husky laugh – almost a sob – drew all of their attention once more. Slowly, he brought his hand away from his chest until it lay on his knee, palm upwards. His fingers uncurled until the object he held was completely exposed.

Gimli’s breath caught. Beside him, Gróin seemed to have stopped breathing entirely.

On Glóin’s palm lay a rose, formed entirely of crystal. It was almost colourless, except for a shimmer of iridescence on the petal tips, and the merest, faintest touch of pink at its heart. It seemed impossible that any crystal could have grown into such a shape, and yet it was so cunningly wrought that it seemed as though no hand had shaped it.

How long they gazed at it, Gimli could never afterwards recall. But eventually, he lifted his head, and stared his father in the eyes.

“Father,” he said, unsurprised to hear that his own voice was shaking, for what dwarf could gaze unmoved upon such a sight? “Father, how came you by this?”

Glóin took a deep breath. “It is a long story,” he began.

@>\--;----

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter: the Beast makes an appearance! (Yes, I know you're all waiting for him...)


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we find out what happened to Glóin

_One Day Earlier_

“Good girl, Periwinkle. That’s all we have time for now, though.”

Glóin patted the pony’s neck as he removed the nosebag. The sun had begun its slow descent towards the horizon – and although sunset was still long hours away, the sky was overcast with cloud, and there were miles still to be travelled before they reached the next inn. It was time to continue.

Clucking softly between his teeth, Glóin took the reins in his hands and, as Periwinkle pulled the cart back onto the road, let his mind wander.

The great fair had been a success for him this year. He had made several new business connections and placed his trade goods very favourably. He had also had the great pleasure of seeing Gróin’s machine attain a first place in the inventors’ competition (scientific category), and in his saddlebags were several letters for his son. Gróin would, he knew, be more interested in the letters from other inventors and ‘scientists’, but Glóin knew there were also a few letters from potential clients in the mix.

Yes, all in all, it had been a most successful journey… with only one exception. Glóin’s brow furrowed slightly as he remembered: although in his satchels were currently resting both a leather-bound account book (tooled leather, and clasped with silver) and a selection of sweets (flavoured with lemon, almond and an exotic essence called _vanilla_ ), he had come away from the fair without acquiring a rose for Gimli. 

It had not been through any lapse of memory that Glóin had failed on this count. He had searched high and low, checked every stall and booth, asked both old friends and new acquaintances – but nowhere had he found a rose of any kind. Not even roses of the growing-kind had come to this year’s fair – neither seeds, saplings nor flowers – and no-one, no-one at all, had brought a crafted rose. And so it was with a sense of slight disappointment that Glóin drove his cart back along the road that would eventually take him home.

At least, it ought to take him home. But it was at this point that Glóin emerged from his daydreams with a start. Instead of being, as he had thought, on a familiar stretch of road that wound between nothing more than fields and hedgerows, he found himself surrounded by trees. They were clustered thickly about the road – and the road itself had narrowed and degraded until it was barely more than a track. 

Looking about him, Glóin cursed fluently and sincerely. Once again, as so often happened, his thoughts had carried him away, and he realised with a sinking feeling that he must have been merrily driving along the wrong path for – well, Mahal only knew how long! And he had a nasty suspicion that this detour might prove more dangerous than his usual wrong turns. The trees, to Glóin’s eyes, had a dark and sinister look about them, and a gloomy pall seemed to hang heavily over the entire forest.

“Right,” he muttered, speaking as much to himself as to the pony. “No problem. All we need to do is turn around and retrace our steps. Simple.” He looked around dubiously. Turning a pony and cart around on a narrow track between thick trees… well, simple might not be the right word, come to think of it. But do-able, as long as nothing went wrong.

Periwinkle the pony had stopped, encouraged by Glóin’s hands on the reins, although her ears and tail showed that she was not entirely happy. Glóin had the reins loosely held in one hand, and was twisted around awkwardly as he tried to extricate himself from between the various parcels and packages – he’d never been very good at packing, really – in order to get down from the cart and guide the pony through the manoeuvre of turning completely around in a confined space.

And then…

A bolt of lightning seared across the sky, half-blinding Glóin with its livid glare. 

Barely a breath later, a booming roll of thunder shattered the brooding silence. 

And Glóin was thrown backwards into the cart as Periwinkle, quite understandably, bolted.

He scrambled back as fast as he could and groped wildly for the reins, but the cart was careering along in the wake of the galloping, terrified pony. All Glóin could do was to hang on for dear life, and try to make sure none of the cart’s contents were lost as it bounced off potholes and treeroots.

“Oh for – Mahal damn it!” He grabbed at a satchel as it flew past his nose. “Slow down, you silly beast!” he roared at Periwinkle, hauling on the reins as he finally managed to get hold of them again. “It was just thunder – nothing’s going to hurt you!”

The echo of his words hung in the air for a long moment. As it faded, a single wavering howl arose from – somewhere – in the woods.

It was joined by another… and another…

“On second thoughts, you may have had the right idea.” Glóin scrambled forward onto the driver’s seat again and frantically flicked the reins. “Let’s move it along!”

The howls surrounded them as pony, cart and driver hurtled along the forest track. What they were heading _towards_ , Glóin didn’t know – _away_ seemed a much more pressing issue. Of course, that depended on what they found ahead of them…

A drop of rain fell on Glóin’s hand.

“Oh, you’ve got to be joking.”

Within heartbeats, the dusty path had turned to mud under them. In less time than Glóin would have thought possible, it was pouring rain so heavily that he could barely see Periwinkle’s ears ahead of him. He pushed his sodden hair back under his equally drenched hood, and shaded his eyes with one hand, trying to keep the water out of his eyes while he strained to see somewhere they could shelter. 

They had slowed the pace by necessity, as the combination of mud and sheeting rain would have had them running into a tree or breaking their necks had they continued racing. Unfortunately, the howling in the forest had not abated with the sudden downpour, and it seemed to Glóin that whatever was causing the howls was getting closer.

“Got to be somewhere,” he muttered through gritted teeth, blinking water off his lashes. “A hollow tree, or maybe a charcoal-burner’s hut. Or a cave behind a waterfall – there’s enough water for that…” He broke off his monologue and stared off to their left, squinting in an effort to see clearly. Surely he’d seen a shape there? 

Another flash of lightning set the sky ablaze, and by its blinding light Glóin saw clearly what he thought he had glimpsed among the trees. His jaw dropped. 

_I’m seeing things_ , he thought wildly. _That can’t possibly be real_.

A castle – no, more than that, a _palace_ – simply did not belong in the middle of a forest. This was like a scene out of the fireside tale of Thuringwethil the vampire, and the palace itself did nothing to dispel that impression – it was as dark and brooding as the woods around it, and its outlines were like an ancient tree, rotted and evil at its core. 

Every sense Glóin possessed warned him away from the place, but there was no choice. The howls were frighteningly close now, and the path, if it continued, was obscured by the rain. There was no certainty that they would find shelter anywhere else, even if they could go further.

Periwinkle had evidently reached the same conclusion, and the cart slewed sideways as she turned into the palace entrance. Great gates loomed up out of the rain, and Glóin gave a prayer of thanks to Mahal that they were open. As soon as they were through the gates, he leapt down from the cart and hurried back to close them – and heaved a sigh of sheer relief as the latch fell into its slot.

Of course, there was no guarantee that the howling creatures couldn’t reach through the bars and lift the latch, but it might slow them down, at least. Glóin hoped so, anyway. 

“Still better get inside if we can,” he said quietly. “Come on, brave Periwinkle. Just a bit further now, there’s the girl. Surely there’re stables somewhere about…”

There were indeed stables. Glóin wasn’t sure how big a horse was in relation to a pony, but even if it was half again as large, these stables seemed… big. Periwinkle seemed relatively happy, though, so Glóin settled her in a stall that could have hosted a small party of dwarves. 

His senses were wound tighter than a harp-string as he crossed a courtyard and approached the palace. Really, he would have been happier going to a side door, but there didn’t seem to be one near, and he wasn’t about to wander about in the rain looking for one.

Great doors of carven oak loomed before him. There was a doorknocker on one – a scowling horned figure, grasping an iron ring in its mouth. Glóin gave it a long and dubious look.

“Aye, well. Beggars cannot be choosers,” he muttered to himself.

Knocking on the door produced no response, however, either with the knocker or with his fist, and so, with heart beating faster than usual, Glóin reached out a hand to the doorknob.

Before he could touch it, however, the great doors opened before him. 

“Hello?”

There was a faint echo of his voice in the empty hall, but otherwise, the silence was unbroken.

“Anyone home?” Glóin wiped the water from his eyebrows and looked around the hall. There were candelabra burning at intervals around its perimeter, which seemed to indicate that there were people at home, but there was no sign of anyone who might have opened the door.

“I’m seeking shelter,” Glóin called loudly. “There’s a damn great storm outside, and your forest seems to have a bad case of wolves and suchlike.”

The hall appeared not to care.

“Aye, well, I did my best,” Glóin muttered to himself. “And that’s not strange in the slightest,” he said aloud, natural sarcasm reasserting itself as he cast a sidelong glance at the cheerfully burning candles.

~*~*~

Any watcher might have traced Glóin’s progress through the palace by the flowing monologue of comments, exclamations and occasional swearing. There were no watchers, however – or at least, none that Glóin could see. His keen ears caught sounds of rustling as he moved through the rooms, but he supposed it could have been mice, or else very large cockroaches.

But there must have been people around, he knew. After all, candles did not burn forever, fires did not light themselves, and above all else, dining tables laden with food still steaming from the oven did not appear out of thin air.

Nor did fully-stocked guest bedchambers materialise complete with ewers of water, a fires that appeared to bank itself for the night, and a bed with warmed sheets. But by this point Glóin was exhausted enough not to care. It had been a long day, and a tiring – and indeed, terrifying – journey. His eyes were closing of their own accord. And so, despite his natural caution in these strange surrounds, Glóin slept long and deeply, and awoke in one piece the next morning.

It was while finishing breakfast – ready-laid on a small table at the other end of the bedchamber – that it occurred to Glóin that he had been guided through the rooms of the palace. Or… was ‘guided’ the correct word to use here? Might it not be more accurate to say – ‘herded’?

Glóin’s blood was rising at the thought. But it was becoming increasingly clear to him, as his mind woke from the sleep-fog, that the same invisible people who had laid out his meals wanted him to go only to particular places in the palace. And the corollary of that was that they wanted him to stay away from other places.

It is a truth universally acknowledged that nothing is more guaranteed to make a dwarf go somewhere they should not, than to tell them they should not go there, and to give no explanation. That is really the only possible explanation for why, when Glóin walked out of the bedchamber, he looked to the right and saw morning sunshine coming through opened windows… and promptly turned left, into the darkness of the corridor.

He wandered through dusty hallways and long-disused rooms. Windows were closed and shuttered, and the furniture was covered in dust-cloths that seemed to have grown grey fur, so thick was the dust upon them. In one room there was a painting resting on the floor, its face leaning against the wall. When Glóin, in curiosity, turned it around, he saw that it had been a portrait, once – but it was ripped and slashed into shreds. It shouted of violence and hatred, and Glóin put it down hurriedly.

An archway led from this room into another hallway, and Glóin passed through it unthinkingly, vaguely noticing that the sides of the arch were draped with velvet curtains that might once have been dark blue. The long hallway seemed, if possible, even gloomier than the rest of the palace, but Glóin noticed a certain shortage of dust that seemed to indicate _someone_ must come here occasionally.

And then he stepped out into a round chamber, and lost the ability to speak.

The room could have been large or small, simple or ornate, ugly or beautiful. Glóin would not have noticed – he had eyes only for the silver pedestal in the centre, for the velvet pillow that crowned it… and above all, for the crystal rose that nestled into its heart.

Spellbound, he stood and stared for a moment – or perhaps for an eternity. He cared not. All that Glóin could think, in some small corner of his mind, was that this was indeed a rose fit for a dwarf. For the rest, he was content merely to worship. 

In his fascination, Glóin had drifted closer, and now he stood directly before the pedestal. He stretched out a hand – meaning not to touch, but only to be nearer to such a wonder…

A scream of primal rage seemed to split the very air of the palace. Before Glóin could blink, his arm was seized in a fierce grip, and he was flung violently away from the rose. He spun to face his attacker. 

Cold blue eyes glared at him from above furiously snarling jaws. Glóin pulled the axe from his belt and held it ready, but ice was trickling down his spine.

_I’m going to die._

“Who are you, that you steal my rose?!” the Beast roared, flexing its claws. 

“I wasn’t stealing anything,” Glóin spat defiantly.

“I permitted you to enter my palace! I gave you shelter from the storm! I fed you and housed you! And is this how you show your gratitude?”

“Well it’s a bit hard to show gratitude when you don’t know there’s anyone around!” In Glóin’s mind, fear was giving way now to anger. “And I have been grateful – I _am_ grateful! _You’re_ the one jumping to conclusions here.”

The Beast lunged at Glóin, who blocked the blow with his axe handle, before ducking to the other side of the pedestal.

“So you want gratitude. Well, then, thank you for your hospitality.” Glóin tossed the words at the Beast with heavy sarcasm. “Such courtesy as I have been shown! I do indeed appreciate it.”

“Fine words,” snarled the Beast. “You have nice manners, for a thief and a liar – and a _Dwarf_.”

“Forgive me if I do not return the compliment,” growled Glóin.

They were prowling up and down on their respective sides. The Beast’s mane was standing out from his neck, and Glóin could feel his own hackles were raised also. 

“Was there not enough for you in the public chambers, that you must invade my privacy and steal my treasure?” the Beast burst out suddenly. Glóin was a little surprised – the Beast’s tone sounded almost more upset than angry.

“I do apologise for trespassing in your private rooms,” he said – and now it was the Beast’s turn to blink, as if surprised by his complaint being taken seriously – “but,” Glóin continued, his tone rising again, “I did _not_ steal your rose! I don’t _want_ to steal your rose! I want to _buy_ it!”

“You want to _what_?!” the Beast exclaimed in pure astonishment.

“To buy it,” Glóin repeated, in a more normal voice. “I’m a merchant – it’s what I do.”

“Well – but – you did not come here with that in mind, surely,” the Beast said, sounding dumbfounded. “None outside these walls know of the rose’s existence; you could not have been told about it.”

“No,” Glóin admitted. “I came here by chance, through a series of mishaps, to seek shelter from the storm. And chance guided my steps to this room this morning. Having seen the rose, I do not know how I could bear to leave without it, for it is the very gift which one of my children requested I bring home, and which I have been unable to obtain. But I am no thief, to take that which is not freely offered, and so I would pay a fair price for it.”

“You would – pay.” The Beast shook his head violently and disbelievingly, as if to clear his ears. “That is – different, at least.” He tilted his head suddenly. “You have children?”

“Aye,” Glóin said proudly, and he told the Beast about them. He spoke of Gelís’ practicality; the way she had made organisation into a craft; her love of her family. He told of Gróin’s constant struggle with his own fears; his skill as an inventor of devices people hadn’t known they needed; his long and traditional courtship with Khira the scribe. And finally he described Gimli, youngest of his children; warrior and poet; feet on the ground and head in the clouds; with a nature so romantic he had asked for but a single rose as a souvenir of his father’s journey. 

“And so that is why I was so drawn to this most beautiful rose,” Glóin concluded. “It seemed so unfair that I should have procured my other children their treasures, and yet not to be able to take my son Gimli the rose he had asked for. So I say again – I would purchase it, if you were willing to part with it.”

The Beast stood silent, eyes half-closed in thought. “Perhaps,” he said at last. “Perhaps I would be prepared to part with it… for a fair price.”

Glóin beamed. “Well now, laddie! Let’s see if you and I can come to an agreement over what we both consider a fair price, then.”

“Oh no.” The Beast shook his head. “No, there will be no ‘agreement’, merchant. No compromises. For if I must part with my greatest treasure, so must you part with yours in return. And, although I had thought that a dwarf would love gold above everything else, I see that your most-loved treasures are not of cold metal, or hard stone.”

The Beast raised himself up to his full height, and flung back his pale mane.

“I will give you the rose, and in return… you will give me one of your children.”

Glóin felt the blood drain from his face.

“No,” he said hoarsely. “No, I will never do that.”

The Beast shrugged. “Then you will die.”

“I would rather die – willingly, a thousand times over, would I die – rather than sacrifice any one of my children!”

“But would they see you make that sacrifice?” the Beast asked shrewdly. “Is there not one of them who, on seeing their father facing his death, would stand forth and say ‘No, I will not let my father die when I could save him’?”

“Never would I buy my life with the life of one of my children.” Glóin’s ears burned with anger; he could feel that his face was still pale with fear. The combination was making him dizzy.

The Beast laughed, somewhat fiercely. “Never fear, merchant. Any of your children who came here would be my honoured guest, and would take no harm from me, or from anything else within this palace. But they must come willingly, of their own free will – because they love you enough to save your life.”

Glóin did not see the Beast move, but he was suddenly seized by the throat, lifted, and pinned against the wall of the chamber. Choking, he clawed at the hairy limb that gripped him, but to no avail.

“And make no mistake, merchant, they would be saving your life,” the Beast hissed in his ear. “You will return to your home now, but at the hour of sunset tomorrow either one of your children, or you, must return. And if it is you who comes, it will be to meet the doom that awaits all those who intrude upon my solitude uninvited.”

He released his grasp and Glóin dropped to the floor, retching and coughing. Before he could gather his wits, his left hand was seized and he felt something placed in it. He had barely time to realise that he now held the crystal rose… when the world whirled around him, faster and faster, blurring until he closed his eyes lest he fall over.

And when he opened his eyes again, he was standing before his own front door.

@>\--;----

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks everyone for being so patient while I took so long to produce this chapter. (Real life was kicking my butt for a while there.) I'm pretty sure the next chapter will be out much sooner!
> 
> And many many thanks to those who have kudosed, commented, subscribed, liked or reblogged this fic - you people keep me going!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there are arguments, conversations, and farewells.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Particular thanks goes to the lovely Paynesque for general advice and patient listening, and for being the inspiration for Khira in this chapter.
> 
> And thanks to everyone who has left comments and kudos on this fic! It gives me a little boost every time I see one!

“You cannot possibly go back!” said Gimli.

“We need a plan!” said Gelís.

“How did you get _back_ here, anyway?” said Gróin.

Glóin, Gelís and Gimli turned and stared at him. Abashed, he shrugged, uncomfortable. “Well, it doesn’t make _sense_ – one moment he was there, and the next moment he was here. That doesn’t work at all… unless there was another force at work. Some magic, perhaps?” He looked to his father. “Do you think touching the rose caused you to be transported?”

Gimli’s hand, which had stretched out to take the rose from Glóin, halted in mid-air. “Good point,” he said, looking warily at the crystal.

Gelís, practical as ever, grabbed a basket from the corner of the room. “Put that… _thing_ in here for now, Father,” she said curtly. “I am sure we will all feel happier if it is out of the way, while we discuss the situation.”

Glóin placed the crystal rose carefully in the basket. They all watched for a few moments.

“It hasn’t disappeared,” Gróin said at last. Gelís set the basket back in the corner.

“ _Yet_ ,” said Gimli, darkly. “Who knows what will happen when one us touches it?”

“Likely nothing more will happen until tomorrow, at sunset,” said Glóin, speaking for the first time since finishing his story. He planted his hands firmly upon his knees. “And then I will return to meet my fate.”

“You will _not_!” his three children snapped in unison.

“I will not see the Beast come here, to wreak his vengeance upon my home and my family,” Glóin said, a seeming of calm upon his voice.

“No. No.” Gelís shook her head. “No, no, no!”

“Father, no,” Gróin echoed, eyes wide.

“No, indeed,” said Gimli. “You shall not go, Father. I will go.”

“ _What_?” Gelís asked incredulously. “What did you just say?”

Gimli shrugged. “I said I will go. It was my foolish request that got us into this mess: I asked for a rose. Therefore it is both my duty and my right to face the consequences.”

“No. No!” Glóin surged from his seat. “ _No-one_ is going back except me. This was my error, and I will not see any of you suffer in my place!”

“It was not your error but mine,” Gimli repeated.

“You are _not_ going back, Father,” Gróin said, pale but stubborn. “We will not allow it.”

“But we’ll not allow you to sacrifice yourself either, Gimli,” said Gelís, glowering.

“Well, one of us has to go,” Gimli said resolutely. “I have no sweetheart to leave behind, and my poetry can be written anywhere. And if this Beast thinks to break his word, he’ll find my axe more than a match for him!”

“Neither do I have a sweetheart,” Gelís pointed out. “And I, unlike you, have no desire for one. How will you find any companionship locked away in this Beast’s palace? It is far better that I should go – I could bring some order to those dusty rooms, at least.”

“You have a business to run, Gelís,” said Gimli. “And further, what would become of Father and Gróin and me if you left us? You look after us so well we would be hopelessly lost without you.” 

“And yet you plan to hopelessly lose yourself anyway,” Gelís said, eyes ablaze. “You would voluntarily walk into this Beast’s lair!”

“ _You_ were offering to do the same thing a moment ago!”

“ _Neither_ of you is going anywhere,” Glóin said firmly. “It’s no use arguing! My mind is made up – I and I alone will be returning.”

“Father, you must not do this,” Gróin said. He paused, and swallowed hard, his face pallid. “I will go,” he said at last, the words tumbling over each other as he spoke in a voice that trembled.

“No!” Gimli and Gelís spoke together. They traded looks, and each consciously calmed their expression before turning back to their brother, who had flinched away from the loud voices.

“We need you here, Gróin,” Gelís added, speaking softly, but with feeling in her voice. “The rest of us would argue endlessly without you here to keep us civilised. And you have a reputation as an inventor to maintain.”

“I can invent anywhere!” protested Gróin.

“Only if there’s a forge, and a workshop,” Gimli said, countering swiftly. “And I doubt that there’s a cart delivery service from that forest.”

“Besides,” Glóin said, “what of your pretty scribe? I fancy Khira would have a few words to say about you leaving her for a Beast.”

Gróin blushed a deep red. “Nothing’s been agreed between us,” he muttered. 

“You’ve been courting ten _years_ and nothing’s been agreed?” Gimli said under his breath, incredulously.

“And besides, family is more important than anything,” Gróin continued.

“Yes. It is.” Gimli rose to his feet. “And I’m finished arguing about this.”

“Where are you going?” Gelís asked sharply.

“Out.” Gimli suited the action to the word.

“Get back here and argue like a dwarf!” Gelís yelled after him. Glóin pinched the bridge of his nose between two fingers, looking as though he had a headache. Gróin fled to his workroom.

“Oh, Mahal wept,” Gelís sighed as the workroom door shut firmly behind her brother. “What can we do, Father? Gimli must be stopped.”

“You know full well that once Gimli has made up his mind, he will not be moved by any force known to Dwarves. Much like the rest of you,” Glóin said sourly. “I mislike it, but I cannot see another path.”

“Well, I can think of one thing.” Gelís set her jaw. “I can hide that thrice-cursed rose before Gimli comes back. If he can’t find it, he can’t go.” She sprang to her feet and swooped on the basket in the corner. 

Glóin counted silently in his head. _One_. _Two_.

“That _leafbrain_!”

 _Three_. “He took it with him, didn’t he,” said Glóin. It was not a question.

~*~*~

Gimli stumped along, neither looking nor caring where he was going.

“Why is everyone in this family so irritating?” he muttered. “Stubborn as granite, the lot of them. Ridiculous Dwarves.”

His thoughts were pierced by a voice urgently calling his name. Gimli was quite ready to curse any member of his family to the Iron Hills and back, but on this occasion the summoner appeared to be Gróin’s sweetheart Khira. Who was… not _quite_ family.

“A fair morning, Khira,” Gimli greeted her politely, suppressing his emotional turmoil.

“I’d wish you the same, but looking at you I fear it would be a waste of my breath,” Khira said bluntly. A wisp of dark hair had escaped her sleek topknot, and she pushed it out of her eyes. “Did you know that your father’s pony and cart are down in the courtyard?”

“My – they – _what_?” Gimli stared at her. “That isn’t possible!”

“That’s what I thought,” Khira said levelly. “But it is so.”

Gimli shook his head in confusion. “But that makes no sense – how could it have come back with Father?”

Khira’s eyebrows rose, causing her eyeglasses to slide down her nose. “I sense a long story.”

“Aye,” Gimli said faintly, “aye. You could say that.” His head was spinning. 

“Hm. Meanwhile, you’ve a pony needs stabling, and a cart needs unloading. If you’ll tell me this story, I’ll even help you.”

Gimli’s mouth twisted. “You won’t believe it when I tell you,”

Khira snorted. “Try working as a professional scribe sometime. I promise you, nothing will seem more unbelievable than some of the things people think they need written down.”

~*~*~

The pony, Periwinkle, was indeed standing in the courtyard, hitched to Glóin’s small travelling cart. A few curious bystanders questioned Gimli about Glóin’s return – wasn’t it strange, sudden, soon? Gimli improvised some explanations that included elements of the truth, Khira added extra details that weren’t even slightly true but seemed to satisfy people, and they edged their way to the stables.

As they groomed Periwinkle, Gimli told Khira the story. He left some parts out, at first, but Khira had a scribe’s ear for plot holes and prised them out of him anyway. After that, Gimli gave up and told the unedited truth.

He finished. Khira blinked several times and shoved her glasses back up her nose. 

“If it weren’t for the pony, I might think you were trying out an idea for an epic poem,” she said eventually. Periwinkle snorted, and Khira patted her neck apologetically. “I wish _you_ could talk,” she said with genuine regret. “Think what it must be like to travel by magic!”

“Disturbing, judging by the state in which Father arrived home,” Gimli said seriously. “Although I suppose some of that may have been caused by emotional distress.”

“True.” Khira’s face grew serious. “It will not help his distress to see you leave in his place.”

“No, it won’t,” Gimli agreed, hanging up his brushes. “But I am going regardless.”

Khira hummed, thoughtfully. “You have your reasons, I daresay.”

Two pairs of dark eyes met in a moment of understanding. They did not say, because Glóin is not good at coping with things that cannot be reduced to items on a list. They did not say, because Gróin takes so long to become accustomed to new things. They did not say, because Gelís’ heart lies in her family: she would be truly lost without it around her.

They said none of these things, but they both knew the truth of them.

Khira cleared her throat and looked away. “Your father must have bought up half of the market,” she said, looking at the cart. “Bags, parcels, packages – does he usually bring back this much?”

Gimli looked with puzzled eyes at the overflowing cart. “No,” he said. “Father brings us each back a gift from his trips, he’s always done that. And he would have picked up some other things if he knew he could sell them elsewhere. Maybe a few things that we could use at home. But this… this is beyond my understanding.”

“Well then, let us haul this lot up to your rooms, so that he may unpack and we can see what he has brought back,” Khira said cheerfully. “Are you not lucky that I came along to help? This will take four arms to carry, at the least!”

“We’re going to look like pack-ponies with this lot,” Gimli sighed.

They loaded each other up with baggage and set off, taking the quieter back pathways. 

“You’re wrong, you know,” Khira said after a while. “About your family, I mean. If they really had to, any one of them could go instead of you. They would find the courage.” 

Gimli considered a number of responses. “Yes,” he said at last. “I know they could. They are strong – so strong, and so brave. Every one of them. And I am still going.”

“To spare them the pain of going?” Khira asked

“To spare myself the pain of standing back and letting them go,” Gimli said shortly, and increased the pace.

~*~*~

The problem of getting the door open was solved by Gimli kicking it with his iron-tipped boot until Gelís ripped it open furiously. Gimli saw her mouth fall open as he shouldered his way into the room, Khira following on his heels.

Glóin’s eyes widened at the sight, and Gimli’s heart sank slightly. He hadn’t realised how much he’d been hoping that there was a simple explanation for the large number of parcels. Judging by Glóin’s expression, ‘simple’ was far from the truth. 

Khira dumped her load on the carpet as politely as she could, and disappeared into the workroom. Gimli put his burdens down with a little more care – he didn’t want to break anything in the parcels, after all.

Although that might depend on what was in them, come to think of it.

“What are these?” Gelís asked, sounding stunned.

“Khira informed me that Periwinkle and her cart were down in the courtyard,” Gimli said.

“But that’s not possible,” exclaimed Glóin and Gelís almost in unison.

“I _know_ ,” Gimli said acerbically. “But nonetheless ‘tis true. And the cart was filled with these packages, which we have now brought up to you. Father,” he added, turning to Glóin, “it would ease my mind considerably to be told that these were all items you bought at the great markets, but I suspect that it is not so?”

Glóin blinked, slowly. “No,” he said carefully, “no, I recognise perhaps half a dozen of these. For the rest…” he spread his hands. “I have not the least idea.”

“I feared as much,” Gimli sighed. “Well, I’ll open them, and we’ll see what they may hold.”

“Have you lost your _wits_?” Gelís all-but-shrieked. “You can’t just do that! There’s weird magic involved in these. Are they dangerous? You don’t know!”

“Do you have some way of finding out, then?” Gimli said, exasperated. “Because if you do, then I’ll wait for you to fetch your magic staff and you can wave it over this mess and see if the crystal glows with fire. But if you don’t, then opening the parcels is as fast a way as any to find out.”

“Fine, go ahead.” Gelís threw her hands up in frustration. “Don’t blame me if you lose an eye or two.”

Gimli glanced at his father. “So tell me, exactly which of these do you recognise as the ones you were bringing home?”

As it turned out, there were seven bags and parcels that Glóin could identify with certainty. Three contained clothes and travel necessities. Of the other four, two contained goods that Glóin had felt would have good resale value in Erebor, or possibly open up avenues for future trade routes. One contained Gróin’s invention, his notice of first prize, and a bundle of letters that Glóin said were from other like-minded inventors. The seventh held the gifts he had brought back for his family.

Gelís took her account-book in hands that trembled slightly. Gróin, emerging at this point looking somewhat calmer (although grasping Khira’s fingers as if they were a safety harness) received his sweets with a wordless nod of thanks.

And then Gimli began to open the strange parcels.

And they stared.

There were swathes of mulberry silk in the purest dyes, and yards of the most delicate cobweb lace. One entire bundle contained nothing but candles – the finest wax candles Glóin had ever seen. Another held a dozen bottles of most venerably aged spirits of wine. There were leather hides (of what animal was not clear) and cakes of sweet-smelling soap. 

All were items that Glóin and his family could either use, or sell for a good profit. It was clear that the gifts had been chosen carefully.

And then there was only one more package left – quite small, and wrapped in a piece of cloth. Inside was a wooden box, plain but well made. Gimli opened it.

“What’s in it?” asked Gelís, trying to see.

“Quills,” Gimli said, his voice sounding odd. “For writing, I believe.” He lifted one out so that they could all see.

Khira was the first to realise. “It’s left-handed!”

“Aye,” Gimli said. “And I write with my left hand, even as I fight with my right hand. How could the Beast have known that?”

“I may have mentioned it – I’m not certain,” Glóin admitted. “When I was telling him of you three, and of why I was seeking a rose… but ‘tis such a small detail to remember. I do not understand.”

“What does this mean?” Gróin asked in a hushed voice.

Gimli examined the quill he held carefully. “Perfectly balanced, and ready-trimmed,” he said to himself. “It’s sturdy, too – just right for a Dwarf’s hand.” He looked up, a smile tugging at his lips. “I would say that it means the Beast is at least capable of paying attention. And this… this is a most thoughtful gift, indeed.” He stroked the quill gently. “I truly think that all will be well.”

The family sat in silence for a time, until Glóin sighed heavily.

“If you are set on this course, then so be it,” he said. “You must leave tomorrow eve, so be sure you are ready.” He rose stiffly, showing every one of his years, and left the room slowly. Khira faded tactfully into the workroom; the siblings remained, looking at each other as though to fix the picture in their minds.

“I cannot like this, Gimli,” Gelís said. “But I do wish you well – and I thank you.”

“Aye, likewise,” Gróin said – stiffly, but Gimli could see the emotion that lay beneath, and smiled.

“Thank you both, also,” he said to them. “Look after Father while I am gone – and who knows? I may be home soon enough.”

~*~*~

“Remember to take your writing-desk,” Gróin said anxiously.

“Take your practice-weapons, you don’t know if there’ll be any…”

“Here, take my handkerchief-case – you’ll need your pocket handkerchiefs…”

“Should he take food? You never know…”

“I’ve some cram, I’ll go and fetch it…”

“And my axe...”

Gimli threw his hands up, caught between despair and laughter. “Stop, stop! I cannot possibly take all of this with me – I cannot even hold it all!”

Gelís glared at him. “If the magic can transport a pony and cart, complete with dowry, than it can transport your worldly goods,” she snapped mildly.

“Yes, but – I already packed my worldly goods,” Gimli protested.

Glóin sniffed. “Not properly, you didn’t. Only one bag? That’s nowhere near enough! They’ll think we’re not respectable folk, sending you off on an adventure so poorly equipped.”

Gimli dropped his head into his hands, and let his family continue to fuss around him. In truth, he was glad that they had found something to occupy themselves with for his last day; else all three would have fretted themselves down to shreds. It was just that he didn’t want to be arriving at the magical palace accompanied by a mountain of his belongings.

And speaking of which… Gimli glanced at the clock on the wall.

“It’s time,” he said quietly.

His family turned identical, wide-eyed expressions on him. Gimli was feeling a little wide-eyed himself, in truth, but he hoped it wasn’t visible.

And then they converged on him. Gróin gripped Gimli’s shoulder and pulled him into a brief, silent embrace, and then Gelís hugged and headbutted him fiercely. “Look after yourself,” she hissed in his ear. 

Gimli pulled free and turned to his father. Glóin cleared his throat. “Aye, well – well, good luck to you, lad.” He too wrapped his arms around Gimli and held him tightly for a long moment.

And with that, there was no more time. Gimli stepped back, away from the determinedly smiling faces of his family, until he stood before the small pile of things he had packed for himself. He took the rose out from where he had hidden it, in a pouch concealed by his beard (“no wonder I couldn’t find it,” Gelís muttered), and held it in his cupped hands.

“Farewell,” he said, looking from one to another of his family. “Until next we meet.”

And with that, the sun set outside the mountain, and Gimli vanished.

@>\--;----

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *ducks storm of furious shippers* I PROMISE THEY MEET IN THE NEXT CHAPTER! 
> 
> And so we wave farewell to Gimli's family for the time being, although they'll be coming back into the story later on. I'm so glad people seem to enjoy reading them, and this seemed like a good place to put a few notes about them - headcanons and other things I've alluded to. 
> 
> In modern terms, Gloin would be a little OCD - and he's also a bit absent-minded, which is not a great combination! That's why he needs to make lists about everything, because it really upsets him if he forgets things. He's a massively proud parent - even though he doesn't always understand his kids, they are the BEST in his eyes.
> 
> Groin, my precious baby, has anxiety. Really major anxiety. I'm not sure if he would also be considered somewhere on the autistic spectrum (his dislike of loud noises and crowds points that way a bit), but he really doesn't function well in wider social settings. He's not great with change, which is why he and Khira have been courting slowly. And he's really insecure about his own abilities, even though he's a freaking genius. *hugs tiny messed-up dwarf* 
> 
> Gelis is asexual/aromantic, and is basically interested in her work, her family, and her craft, possibly in that order. She's very organised (partly because none of the rest of them are) and really enjoys doing the nitty-gritty paperwork and accounting for the family business. Incidentally, she does silversmithing as a craft - this is why all her family have silver hair clips and beads. Khira knew she was accepted into the family when Gelis made her a pair of hair sticks.
> 
> (If I've messed up on representing any of these, please let me know!)
> 
> Quill pens really are different for left- and right-handed writers. The idea is to have a feather from the correct wing of the bird, so that it will curve back over your writing hand and keep your sight-line clear. For a right-handed person, feathers from the left wing are preferred, and vice versa.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Gimli meets the inhabitants of the castle

The world stopped spinning, and Gimli blinked rapidly.

“Well… that was quite an experience,” he muttered.

He looked around, recognising the small chamber from Gloin’s story. The pedestal in the centre of the room had clearly once held the crystal rose; a velvet cushion awaited its return. Gimli looked at the rose, which he still held in his hand… and pocketed it. He wasn’t sure how its magic worked, but it seemed wise to keep it close.

The pile of things his family had prepared for him to take (Gimli still found himself thinking of them as ‘bride-gifts’) was nowhere to be seen. He wasn’t sure whether to be thankful or sorry – although it occurred to him that his belongings might have been sent elsewhere in the palace, if Periwinkle’s return was anything to judge by.

“Anyone around?” he asked aloud. A small table against one wall held a decanter half-filled with a dark red liquid – Gimli was no expert but he didn’t think it was wine, it looked a little dark – and a silvery goblet. The decanter appeared to be made of cut crystal, and Gimli couldn’t resist walking over for a closer look.

“Oh, now you are quite stunning, aren’t you,” he said in sheer dwarvish pleasure at the sight of such superb crafting. “Lead crystal, if I’m not mistaken. Beautiful.”

“Thank you,” the decanter said politely.

Gimli realised his mouth was hanging open. He closed it, and cleared his throat.

“I – did you just – do you _talk_?” he spluttered.

“Indeed I do,” said the decanter cheerfully. “Galion, of the Woodland Realm, at your service.” It – or he? – bowed.

“Gimli, son of Gloin, at yours,” Gimli replied automatically, bowing in return. His head was starting to spin – _how_ was it possible for a decanter to bow?

“It is indeed a pleasure to meet you, Gimli,” Galion said. “You are very welcome to our palace!”

“Thank you,” Gimli managed to answer. “I – ah – my father did not mention you when he told me of his visit?”

Galion waved a handle nonchalantly. “Oh no, of course he wouldn’t. He didn’t see any of us. We saw him, of course, but it wouldn’t do for us to be revealing ourselves to any casual guests who wander in.”

“…‘we’?” Gimli blinked. “There are more of you?”

“Sweet Valar, yes!” Galion laughed. “This place doesn’t run itself, you know. You likely won’t see most of us, but we light the fires, clean the rooms, cook the food…” He shrugged, a complicated manoeuvre without shoulders. “Everything, really.”

“Galion, you’re overwhelming our guest,” a new voice chided from the next room. “He doesn’t need to know all of this straightaway – and besides, you’re keeping him standing.”

An armour rack glided through the doorway. Gimli nearly bit his tongue.

“We were conversing, Tauriel,” Galion huffed. “Chatting in a friendly manner. You should try it sometime.”

“Or alternatively, I could remain socially isolated and focussed on my job,” the armour rack replied. “I like that option better.”

Galion huffed. “This is Tauriel,” he said, turning back to Gimli. “She’s Captain of the Guard, so you will undoubtedly see her around. But she doesn’t socialise, so there’s no use inviting her to join you for a drink. _I_ , on the other hand…”

“And once again, you just keep talking,” Tauriel said – and Gimli could hear her tone of ‘eye-rolling’ despite a shortage of eyes to roll. “I am at your service, Master Gimli,” she added, bowing in a way that shouldn’t have been possible for an armour rack apparently constructed of solid wood, but by this point Gimli was beyond being surprised.

Well. Probably.

“As Galion should have mentioned already, if he weren’t so busy talking about himself,” Tauriel continued, “we are to bring you to meet your host.”

At which point Gimli was reminded that of course there was more to this palace than some unexpectedly talkative furniture. His ‘host’ – well, he supposed that was one way to describe it.

“Of course,” he said, forcing a smile that felt more like a grimace. “Lead on, please.”

Galion hopped onto Tauriel’s shelf as she passed his table, and the two set off, Gimli following in their wake. Tauriel had intricately carved waves and braids intertwining down her back, and in the candlelight her wood glowed with a deep red colour that reminded Gimli of his brother’s hair. By contrast, Galion’s facets caught so much light he appeared to sparkle… and honestly, the whole situation was almost unbelievably dream-like…

Gimli shook his head sharply. He had to be awake. Not even in his wildest dreams had he ever been walking through an enchanted palace, following a decanter and an armour rack as they moved along the passage. 

He wasn’t even sure he could write a poem about it, actually – which was a pity, because it was a beautiful palace, in its way. That way was, admittedly, rather gloomy and covered in dust. But the candle sconces threw pools of light onto a thick carpet, and occasional flashes of gilding came from the frames of the paintings that lined the walls. It was too dark to make out the subjects of the paintings, but Gimli thought they were probably portraits. He wondered whose portraits would have ended up in such a place.

Without his consciously noticing, they had passed through a number of hallways, and now Tauriel and Galion came to a stop outside a massive oaken door. Gimli was some paces to the rear, but he caught snatches of a whispered argument as he drew closer.

“… _promised to be polite_ …”

“… _if you believe that_ …”

“… _he knows how important_ …”

“… _wouldn’t give it five minutes_ …”

Gimli felt a momentary pang of homesickness at the familiar sounds of squabbling, but he suppressed it. He suspected he would need all his wits about him for the coming… encounter.

Galion hopped down from his place on Tauriel, and both of them turned to face Gimli.

“Don’t be alarmed by his appearance,” Galion began.

“Or anything he may say,” Tauriel added.

“He has sworn that nothing will harm you.”

“We will be here, but we will come no further than this doorway.” Tauriel hesitated. “Try to – keep an open mind.”

Gimli had barely a moment to wonder what that meant before his guides were turning back to the door. Tauriel leaned her weight on it and it swung ponderously open. Galion hopped to stand in the opening.

“Gimli, son of Gloin,” he announced in a voice that filled the room beyond. “Your guest, m’lord.” He stepped aside and bowed; Tauriel bowed from the other side of the door, and Gimli steeled himself and entered.

He nearly lost his breath at the room that greeted him. It stretched out, vast before his eyes, and seemed nearly the size of the great Hall of Erebor, which could hold the entire population of the mountain. Great carven pillars stood about its edges, made to look like great twisted tree trunks – or perhaps they really were tree-trunks. The boundaries between ‘inside’ and ‘outside’ seemed to blur with each step Gimli took, his feet sinking into a mossy rug. 

Between the pillars were great panels of grey-green marble that made Gimli’s head spin trying to calculate the cost. He wondered if his father had seen them, or the ceiling that was almost more like clouds than the clouds in the sky, painted in hues that shaded from thundercloud to rain-shadow.

It was not a cheerful room, but it did not feel threatening to Gimli. Rather, he thought it seemed… sad, as though it yearned for sunshine to pierce its painted clouds, and saplings to shoot joyfully from its mossy floor. His fingers itched for a pen to make notes – there was a poem in this, he was certain.

But not yet, because Gimli was all too well aware that he was focusing on every part of the room except for the massive chair – almost a throne – that loomed before him. Like the pillars, it was made of wood, but in form it resembled horns or antlers more than a tree, unless it was a twisted thorn tree. And it alone in this room seemed to be filled with a brooding darkness. He stood before it at last, and gazed upon the creature who had consumed his thoughts for the past day. 

There was a very long silence.

“And so you are the merchant’s child?” the Beast asked at last. His voice was not as deep as Gimli had expected from so large a chest, but rather a light tenor; strangely pleasant even though it was mangled by its passage through fangs.

Gimli decided not to think about the fangs.

“Aye,” he said. “I am Gimli, son of Gloin, come to fulfil my father’s promise to you.” He did not add the customary ‘at your service’. A mere polite locution to a dwarf; he wasn’t sure if the Beast would see it that way, or take it more literally. He wasn’t willing to take the risk. “Thank you for the gifts,” he said instead. “They were – very thoughtful.”

“You are welcome, Gimli, son of Gloin,” said the Beast gravely.

There was a long moment of silence. “And am I to know _your_ name?” Gimli asked, raising his brows in query.

“No, you are not,” the Beast said, the edge of a growl in his voice.

_Well_ , Gimli thought, _that politeness didn’t last long_.

“Forgotten it, have you?” he asked with exquisite sarcasm.

The Beast bit back a growl. “Yes,” he said shortly. “I have forgotten it. It matters not what you call me.”

“Oh, well, in _that_ case,” Gimli said, drawling the words out, “you won’t mind when call you all the names that spring to my lips when I think of what you have done, you arrogant bully.”

“What _I_ have done?” roared the Beast, all politeness gone in an instant.

“You threatened my father!”

“I let him go!”

“You forced him to make a terrible choice,” Gimli snapped. “Do you think I would have come here if I had not feared for his life – and more, for his spirit? It would have killed him to have sent one of us, and you would have killed him if he had come himself!”

“ _I would not have touched him_!” the Beast howled.

Suddenly calm, he continued: “If your father had returned alone, I would have sent him on his way. He would have been home by nightfall.”

“You – would – _what_?” Gimli stuck a finger in his ear and rotated it vigorously. “I must have wax in my ears, I think, because I could have sworn you just said you would have let him go.”

“I would,” said the Beast.

Gimli blinked slowly and deliberately. “And so you are telling me that I came here for _nothing_?”

“No!” said the Beast. “If you had not come, you would have felt ashamed that you had let your father go alone, and he in his turn would have been unable to forget that none of his children was willing to come in his place. In time it would have been the destruction of your entire family. So you see, it was entirely necessary for you to come.”

Gimli counted to ten in his head. The Beast had the appearance of one who believed what he was saying, and Gimli didn’t want to lose his temper. 

Not again. 

Not yet, anyway. 

“Let me be quite clear,” Gimli said at last, through gritted teeth, “None of this would have been necessary at all if not for your demands. None. Of. It. So do not try to tell me that you were doing me – or my _family_ – some sort of _favour_.” He breathed deeply to try to calm himself further. “I am here, and I will stay. But do not expect my gratitude, _Beast_. You have done nothing to earn it.”

The Beast hunched a sulky shoulder. “Well. You are here now.” 

There was a pointed sound of throat-clearing from the doorway. Gimli jumped slightly, having forgotten that Galion and Tauriel were still there, but the Beast straightened, appearing to remember a conversational script. “My servants will make you comfortable – if there is anything you require, it shall be provided. You may go anywhere within these walls, but do not leave the palace walls unescorted.”

Gimli nodded tightly. “I understand,” he said, acknowledging without agreeing. “Is there anything else?”

“One thing more,” said the Beast. “Will you marry me?”

The blood roared in Gimli’s ears, and only training and stubbornness kept him from swaying where he stood. For a long moment he could not speak, although he could probably have screamed.

“No,” he said at last, his voice sounding strange in his own ears.

“Then I will see you tomorrow,” the Beast said, and left the room.

Gimli was still staring after him when Tauriel appeared at his side.

“If you will follow me, Lord Gimli, we will show you to your rooms,” she said quietly.

“Thank you,” said Gimli. “I think.”

~*~*~

His rooms were…

Well, they were nothing like the great room, for which he was thankful. Indeed, a great deal of effort seemed to have been made to make them comfortable. A fire crackled cheerfully in the hearth, and the armchair that sat before it was quite reasonably sized for a dwarf (although his feet did not touch the floor, but a footrest had been provided). And all off Gimli’s belongings had turned up after all, apparently – they had been neatly put away in cupboards or spread around the room, possibly to make it feel more home-like. Really, in other circumstances Gimli would have felt quite touched.

As it was, he was still seething.

“What reasonable person does that?” he asked again, pacing furiously. “Nobody would believe me if I told them that he asked me to marry him after five minutes acquaintance – all of which was spent arguing, incidentally! – because nobody does that. It does not happen! What did he think I was going to say, in any case? He can’t possibly have thought I would say yes! So why ask me?”

Tauriel made a vaguely sympathetic noise from her position near the door. Galion was darting around fussing over the room, and making minute changes to the arrangement of various items that apparently weren’t quite where they ought to be. 

Gimli heaved a frustrated sigh. “Look, you both work for him, and I know you aren’t going to say anything against him or give away any of his secrets. I understand that – I’m not asking you to. But will you please tell me if there is any reason for me to be seriously worried for my safety here?”

“There is none,” Galion said at once. “He has sworn that no harm will come to you while you are here, and he will keep his word.”

“I am Captain of the palace guard, but I am charged to protect you personally,” Tauriel added. “And yes: I would protect you no matter what danger threatened; even it was from another to whom I owed loyalty. You have my oath on that.”

Gimli nodded, hoping he could believe what they said. He thought he probably could, but the lack of facial expressions made the pair a little hard to read. Still, their body language was very human, and it felt truthful, so…

There was a sharp rap on the closed door to the corridor and Gimli spun into a warrior’s stance before he thought. Tauriel, he noted, had taken a similar stance.

“Galion, open this door!” came a female-sounding voice through the door – so, _not_ the Beast then, Gimli thought. He did not relax.

Moving faster than Gimli would have thought possible, Galion was over at the door instantly, pulling on a long cord that hung down by its side. The door swung open and a trolley laden with a supper-tray rolled through. The smells that rose from the covered dishes made Gimli’s mouth water. He thought it was probably safe to relax now – poisons seemed unlikely…

“I hope this is to your taste,” the voice said again, as the trolley rolled to a stop by his knee. Gimli looked around to see who – or what – was talking this time. Perhaps the trolley had a voice?

“I’m the teapot, dear.” 

Gimli nearly choked. For some reason – he wasn’t at all sure why – the new arrival was the most disconcerting thing he had seen so far in the palace. Why a teapot should be so much more disturbing than a decanter or an armour rack – especially when all of them talked and moved of their own volition... actually, Gimli rather thought it was just the final straw; the one thing too much; the crowning piece of strangeness in this already strange day.

The teapot wore a neatly-knitted teacosy in shades of green and brown, with an arrangement of knitted leaves on top like a stylish hat. Something in its stance gave Gimli the impression it was rather aware of its appearance (which was, admittedly, rather attractive).

“Gimli, son of Gloin, may I present to you Cenadhril,” Galion said smoothly. “She is our housekeeper and chatelaine of the palace.”

“Delighted to make your acquaintance,” Gimli managed to say.

The teapot performed a slight bob which might have been a curtsey in a human. “The pleasure is mine, Lord Gimli. Now please, eat. You must be starved!” 

Cenadhril’s tone of voice reminded him of his late grandmother, and Gimli had picked up a fork in automatic obedience before he thought. He cleared his throat.

“You do not – I am not – I am a merchant’s son,” he said awkwardly. “Not a lord. So, please – just ‘Gimli’ is fine.”

Tauriel, Galion and Cenadhril exchanged a brief glance between them.

“Of course, it shall be as you wish, Gimli.” said Tauriel.

“We’ll see,” Galion said not-quite-softly enough.

“Eat!” scolded Cenadhril.

Gimli was too busy obeying her to ask Galion what he had meant, and by the time he finished eating, he had forgotten the comment.

@>\--;----

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They met! See, I told you they would!
> 
> I really dithered about having the enchanted objects from the Disney version - for a while I was going to go with the invisible servants from the original fairytale, but I settled on this in the end. And then Galion and Tauriel informed me that they were NOT going to be a candlestick and a clock, thank you... profuse apologies to all those over the past month who have put up with me asking "If Tauriel was a piece of furniture, what would she be?"
> 
> Cenadhril – the name is formed from the Sindarin word ‘cennan’, meaning ‘potter’, and the feminine ending ‘-ril’... yes, she is in fact Mrs Potts. I am not an elvish scholar, so I apologise if her name is completely impossible.
> 
> And as always, soooooo many thanks to everyone who has left kudos or commented on this fic - you give me life and inspiration, people!


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which matters come to a head, and battles ensue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for Tolkien-typical spider content.

The days passed in a blur for Gimli.

He became aware that his belongings had made it to the palace. That was good, he thought. His family would have been worried if Gimli had left without any possessions.

He tried hard not to think that his family would be worried anyway.

Tauriel took Gimli to the training ground and sparred with him until he fell in exhaustion. He went there again the next day, and the next, moving numbly through shadow-dances with axe and sword.

He found that if he was tired enough, he slept at night. 

Cenadhril arrived with Gimli’s evening meal and scolded him until he ate it. Other meals appeared through each day. Sometimes, Gimli ate those as well.

He had written no poetry since he left the mountain.

And every day at sunset, the Beast sought him out, and repeated the question of the first night.

It was only a matter of time before something snapped.

*~*~*

“I’ve told you ‘no’ before,” Gimli said, breathing hard. He had been working at the pells, and the interruption was not welcome. He had _nearly_ got that movement right…

“And you may tell me ‘no’ again,” the Beast said, sounding oh-so-reasonable. “I do but ask.”

“You ask, you ask…” Gimli said, hearing his voice crack. Part of him – the poet’s voice in his soul – watched as the dark weight in his chest broke the fragile tie that held his emotions in check. “You ask, but you do not hear my answer,” he said, his voice rising into a shout. “I should not have to tell you again – I should never have had to tell you more than once!”

The Beast reared back, eyes wide, but Gimli was running, running with eyes blinded and ears roaring, going nowhere but _away_.

*~*~*

Gimli pushed a branch aside, and ducked beneath it only to receive a face-full of wet leaves. He cursed, slightly muffled by the mouthful of vegetation.

Storming out of the palace would have been a much better idea if it had been on purpose, but Gimli had been so angry – so hurt, so homesick, so filled with everything he had not allowed himself to feel – he had not stopped to think. As a result, he was now wandering in damp woodland with nothing but his axe for company, no provisions, and no idea of how to get back to the palace.

Darkness had fallen some time ago, and Gimli’s dwarf eyes were sharpened. It didn’t seem to help. He had found no paths to follow, and the trees all looked much the same to him. The thought had crossed Gimli’s mind that he could blaze a trail, or at least mark the trees he passed, but Gimli had read enough legends of Fangorn and the Old Forest to be very wary indeed of using his axe on trees in an uncanny wood.

_Uncanny_ …

Gimli became aware of a strange silence around him. He was not forest-wise, but poems about the wilderness always seemed to be full of birdsong, or the sounds of bats squeaking and small animals rustling through the undergrowth. And he was fairly sure complete silence only fell when there was a large predator around…

He froze. On the very edge of his hearing was a faint clicking noise that lifted the hair on the back of his neck. His eyes darted left, then right. And then, very slowly, lifted upward…

“ _Shit_!” Gimli leaped back as a jet of sticky webbing landed on the exact spot he had been standing. 

Angry chittering erupted from the trees above him, and down the trunk of the nearest began to crawl one of Gimli’s worst nightmares. He’d never liked spiders – even of normal size. This – well, it was about the size of a pony, if a pony had eight legs and no neck, and it looked entirely large enough to drag away a full-size Man. It could probably even manage a Dwarf.

Gimli gripped his axe and wished for eyes in the back of his head. The spider, he noted with the calm of sheer terror, had that advantage as well.

According to family legend, Gimli’s father and uncle had once been captured by giant spiders, and Gimli now fervently wished that he had actually paid _attention_ to the story: in particular, the part where they _escaped_.

Oh… now Gimli saw there was a second spider following the first. He shifted to keep them both in view as they reached the ground. 

They scuttled.

Terror is not the best emotion to have, going into battle. It fogs the mind, and even highly-trained warriors begin to react with instinct rather than training. Against other highly-trained fighters, this is often a fatal mistake.

In this particular case, the spiders didn’t know what hit them. (It was an axe.)

And if there had only been two spiders, Gimli would have taken a moment to calm down from his panic and battle-fever, detoured around the corpses and gone on his way.

However…

The rest of the colony began to creep down from the treetops. Gimli lost count of how many he saw – didn’t even try to count after the first ten – but there were enough that he would be in definite trouble. The spiders had learned from the deaths of the first two, and were hanging back until enough of them had massed on the ground that they could swarm Gimli. In fact, his chances of getting out of this encounter were so slim as to be non-existent.

_Well then_ , Gimli thought. _Might as well die like a Dwarf_.

“Baruk khazâd!” he roared, charging at the spiders. “Khazâd ai-mênu!”

The battle-cry seemed to hang in the air, echoing and bouncing around the trees, and growing stronger instead of weaker. Gimli had just time to realise what was happening when a great, roaring shape crashed into the spiders from the far side.

And then he stood for one moment of pure amazement as the Beast grabbed a spider in each hand and smashed their heads together. He flung the still-twitching remains at a third spider, sending it rolling, and leapt on a fourth to rip its legs off with his bare claws.

Gimli renewed his attack with added vigour, bellowing his battle-cries above the snarling of the Beast and the hissing and chittering of the spiders. Outnumbered though they were, Gimli and the Beast cut a swathe of devastation through their enemy, and met at the centre of the skirmish.

“I told you not to leave the palace,” the Beast growled, his voice a little muffled from ripping a spider open with his fangs.

“You never said why not,” Gimli said loudly, bringing his axe crashing into the front eyes of his opponent. “If you’d mentioned the spiders, I might have listened.”

“You don’t like spiders?” the Beast inquired conversationally, using one as a flail.

“I really don’t.” 

The Beast spat out part of a spider’s leg. “I cannot imagine why not,” he muttered.

The remaining spiders seemed to have decided that discretion was the better part of valour, and were rapidly vanishing into the trees. Now Gimli found himself standing in a small clearing with the Beast, both of them spattered with various indescribable things. 

Gimli was shaking with a combination of battle-rage and a few other emotions he was less prepared to admit to. “What kind of forest are you running here, anyway?” he snarled at the Beast. “Giant spiders! Enchanted palaces! What next?”

As if in answer, a howl rose on the air. It echoed eerily and then faded, too slowly.

“You had to ask,” the Beast said through gritted fangs.

“Wolves?”

“Wargs.” The Beast grinned mirthlessly. “They do not usually cross the river, but then, neither do the spiders usually stray this far north.”

“Lovely,” Gimli said, dry-mouthed. “I trust you’ll forgive me if I do not feel very honoured by it all.”

The Beast huffed a silent laugh, and then froze where he stood. Gimli stared past him and saw the faint pairs of glowing pinpricks, steadily creeping towards them.

It seemed to be a small pack. At the moment, that was small comfort.

The Beast snarled, flexing his claws. His head was lowered between his shoulders; his hackles stood erect. The Warg-pack split and began to circle the pair. Gimli moved almost without thought to stand back-to-back with the Beast.

“This would be a lot easier if it weren’t for your tail,” he muttered.

“I don’t often fight in company,” the Beast said.

“Well, just try not to sweep me off my feet,” Gimli answered without thinking.

There was a very pointed silence.

“If you get the chance to make a break for the palace, you should do so,” the Beast said eventually. “I should not like to see you injured.”

“I slew two spiders before you arrived!” Gimli said, setting his jaw at the implication.

The Beast made a scoffing sound. “I must have killed twenty at the least before the rest fled. But that is only a few leaves in the forest.”

“Oh, so we compete, do we?” Gimli gripped his axe. “I may be less than your stature, master Beast, but I am a Dwarf, and we are a doughty race. The day I cannot stand beside you in battle is the day you may return me to the stone.”

“So long as it is not this day,” the Beast said, and then the Wargs attacked.

Gimli had fought Wargs before, but fighting Wargs in forest-land was completely different to fighting them in the hills and plains to the East of Erebor. He felt cramped by the trees in this battle that was familiar and yet somehow alien.

The Wargs were more cunning than the spiders had been, and co-ordinated their efforts with greater skill. Even Gimli, with his training and experience, was hard pressed to keep pace with the battle, although the Beast seemed tireless, using his prodigious strength to fling Wargs bodily away from them.

They were acting with surprising teamwork for a pair who had never fought together before. It occurred to Gimli that perhaps their verbal disagreements had been a sort of practice for battle, and that they had each gained a sense of their relative strengths that carried over into actual combat… although he wasn’t sure the analogy truly worked. But what truly startled Gimli was that the idea was the seed of a poem – the first he had sprouted since his arrival at the palace.

Unfortunately, verbal warfare was no substitute for the real thing. They were causing damage, yes, but so were the Wargs. Blood was spilled on both sides – minor wounds as yet, but the longer the fight went on, the more seriously they would be affected.

It was clear to Gimli at least that it was the pack-leader they needed to dispose of. He could see the lead Warg – larger than the others, with eyes that glowed red in the darkness; he was a force to be reckoned with. The others were dangerous enough, but it was this one that made them deadly. The problem was going to be getting close enough to do serious damage.

It did occur to Gimli that the Beast could probably toss him that far, but that wasn’t really an option he was happy with.

So instead, he did the next stupidest thing that occurred to him, leapt into the air, and used the Beast’s solidly muscled side as a springboard to catapult him over the heads of several startled Wargs, landing him almost within an axe-length of the leader. 

Behind him, the Beast roared in pain and shock, but Gimli had no time to check whether he was alright. All his focus was on the Warg-leader, who paced towards him, snarling through yellow-grey fangs.

Afterward, Gimli could remember little of the fight. It had been nasty, brutish, and short, and it had most assuredly been bloody. Both he and the great Warg were covered in bloodied wounds by the time Gimli’s axe sank into its neck, and Gimli could only stand there gasping and nearly spent.

And then he had looked up and seen the Beast fall.

*~*~*

The remaining Wargs had fled, and Gimli was ripping strips off his tunic when the Beast roused.

“Master Dwarf,” he said fuzzily. “You are – still here.”

“Aye, I’m here,” Gimli said, pausing in his work to peer closely into the Beast’s eyes. “How do you feel?”

The Beast blinked a few times. “I do not quite know,” he said at last. “A little… as though I had been pounded into a savoury paste.”

Gimli snorted. “Aye, you took a beating, here. And a number of wounds, as well, which I am trying to bind – so _don’t_ try to sit up yet,” he said sharply. “You’ll only set them to bleeding more.”

“I did not know you were a healer, Gimli son of Glóin.”

“Merely field medicine. A warrior cannot always rely on others to tend his wounds. But my uncle is a healer.” Gimli tied the bandage in a knot. “I think that will hold, for now. But you should have these properly cleaned and treated, and I think some will need stitching,” he said, gesturing to one particularly deep gash across the Beast’s chest. “Have you a healer at the palace?”

“Tauriel – she knows some of the healing arts,” the Beast said with an effort. “But you – you are wounded also. What of your own wounds?”

“These scrapes?” Gimli snorted. “They are as nothing to a Dwarf. We are a hardy race, and heal quickly. If my grazes are cleaned, it will be enough.”

“You are fortunate.” The Beast pushed himself up on one arm, and sucked in a sharp breath. “ _Ai_ – that hurts,” he hissed, clamping his other hand over his chest wound. 

“Aye, it will hurt for some time,” Gimli said with scant sympathy. “The important question is: can you stand and walk back to the palace? And for that matter, I hope you know where the palace is from here, for I do not.”

“I believe I can manage,” the Beast said after some thought. “Although my progress will be slow – and I may need to beg your shoulder as support, Master Gimli. But,” a brief smile, “I do know the way to the palace.”

“Good,” Gimli said, nodding. He was feeling somewhat disconcerted. This Beast was surely the same Beast who had sent such thoughtful gifts to Gimli and his family. And yet, until now, he and Gimli had been unable to speak without exchanging words like knives. Battle forged bonds between companions, it was true, but Gimli still felt there was more to this situation than met the eye.

He shook his head. It would have to wait.

“I will help you to stand, then, if I may,” he said instead.

“Yes,” said the Beast. “Thank you,” he added, as an apparent afterthought.

Gimli raised his brows. “You are welcome.” 

He puffed a little, hoisting the Beast to his feet – it was quite a weight to lift, even for a Dwarf. Once on his feet, the Beast staggered slightly, but Gimli braced him before he could fall.

“Lean on me, if you need.” 

“I will be well –” the Beast insisted.

“I would rather bear your weight than haul you up from the forest floor like a fallen tree,” Gimli said snappishly. “Have done with this foolishness. It is no shame for a warrior to accept aid.”

“I have known some who thought otherwise,” the Beast muttered, but he braced himself on Gimli’s shoulder.

“Well, I was taught that a fighter who will not trust their comrades is as good as dead,” Gimli said as they moved off. “And that does not only apply in battle, for trust is often built far away from the field of war.”

“Perhaps it is so,” the Beast said after some time. “And yet… what of a situation caused by one’s own foolishness? Surely it is only right to fix that without asking others for aid?”

“I do not think so, no,” Gimli answered after some time sorting through his own thoughts. “To refuse to ask for aid if you cannot fix your own folly… that is a greater flaw. We all dislike appearing weak or foolish to others, particularly to our friends. But true friends will try to help regardless, and there is no weakness in asking for that help.”

The Beast seemed lost in thought, and they spoke no more until they reached the palace. On the very doorstep, the Beast paused.

“Tonight, we must both have our wounds tended,” he said to Gimli. “But tomorrow… might I speak with you?”

Gimli nodded slowly. “Yes… but not until the afternoon,” he said at last, and smiled faintly. “I have a poem to write in the morning.”

@>\--;----

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to everyone who has read, kudosed or commented on this fic so far! You are all stellar folk!
> 
> I'm hoping to step up the writing pace and get this finished by the time the new Disney Beauty and the Beast movie is released - no promises, but I'll give it my best shot. It looks like being another three chapters to the end.
> 
>  
> 
> Bonus deleted scene:
> 
> The Beast, with a last mighty heave, flung the carcass from him to reveal Gimli standing disgusted.
> 
> “That,” Gimli said deliberately, “still only counts as one.”
> 
> ...I'm still sorry that bit got cut.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there may be something there that wasn’t there before.

Tauriel shook her upper carvings in disbelief. “I know you said that Dwarves heal swiftly, but if I had not seen it for myself, I would not have believed it.”

Gimli shrugged. “Aye, many other races have been surprised by our recovery time. I had a head wound some years ago that I’m told would have laid a Man low for days at the least; all I needed was a bandage to keep the blood out of my eyes.”

“Well, a bandage is all you appear to need this time as well,” Tauriel said. “And I’m not sure that you really need that, but keep it on to be safe. You were only wounded last night, after all.”

“It can probably come off tonight,” Gimli offered from his past experience.

“We’ll see how it goes,” Tauriel said firmly. She tilted her ‘head’. “You do sound somewhat better, though… I do not mean to intrude, but you seem a little more cheerful than you have been.”

Gimli blinked, surprised. “I… think I may be,” he said after a moment’s thought. “Well! I am a simple fellow, after all. A fight last night, a poem this morning – clearly that is all I need from life.”

Tauriel was eloquently silent, and Gimli sighed. “In truth, I feel as though I had been immersed in fog since I came here,” he said. “And now a ray of sunshine has filtered through to me. Will it last, will it grow brighter? I do not know. But for now, I feel heartened by the glimpse of light.” He rose to his feet. “And now, I did promise to speak with your master today. Is he ready to see me?”

~*~*~

“I am sorry,” the Beast said.

The words left his mouth as soon as he saw Gimli, and before Tauriel had closed the door. They were not in the Great Hall this time, but rather in a smaller antechamber, with a small but cheerful fire crackling in one wall.

The Beast’s wounds had been bandaged, and he was seated in an armchair drawn up to the fire. Again unlike the Great Hall, the chair here was slightly shabby, as though worn by much use, but it looked more comfortable. Gimli’s chair certainly was.

“I am sorry,” said the Beast again, “sorry that I kept asking for your hand. I ought to have respected your answer, and I did not.”

“I wonder if you know how it feels,” Gimli said slowly, brows drawn together and eyes fixed in thought. “I am here at your order. I volunteered, yes, but still… And this is your domain. Your servants have been kind, but you are their master, not I.”

He glanced at the Beast. “When you did not heed my response – when you kept asking, kept pushing – it told me that you would not listen to me. And that you did not care whether I was comfortable here… or whether I felt safe. And it reminded me that my life here is in your hands. You swore to my father that I would not be harmed… but how could I trust you?”

The Beast’s eyes were stricken.

“Why did you keep asking?” Gimli said to his hands. “Why did you ask in the first place?”

“I cannot tell you,” the Beast said, and flung up a hand as Gimli would have spoken. “No, please, hear me out. It is not that I _will_ not – I would tell you if I could – but I truly _cannot_. It has been laid on me not to speak of it, and I cannot break such a geas.” He sighed. “I know this will not help you to trust me, but I give you my word that I will not ask again.”

“How good is your word?” Gimli asked, which was an immensely rude question by the standards of Dwarves.

“The reason I will not ask is that I swore you would not be harmed,” the Beast said. His eyes glowed like the embers of a fire, but his voice remained calm. “My asking hurts you. Therefore I will not ask again. I keep my word when it is given, Master Gimli.”

Gimli did not trust himself to speak, but he nodded. 

“There is one thing I would ask of you, though,” the Beast said tentatively. Gimli tensed, but the Beast continued “I do but ask this; I do not demand. If you should ever change your mind… will you tell me?”

“Aye,” Gimli said, thinking, “Aye, I could do that. If I were to change my mind – and mark you, it’s not likely! – I would tell you.”

The Beast gave a wobbly smile, which Gimli returned, somewhat tentatively.

“I should say,” Gimli said abruptly, “I am sorry for my part in our initial meeting. I might as well admit it now – I had meant to give you a fair chance, and to keep an open mind. Your gifts were… they were very nice,” he finished weakly.

“I had worried that you did not like them,” said the Beast hopefully. “I thought, perhaps, I had offended by sending them.”

“No!” Gimli said quickly. “No offense was taken. They were most thoughtfully chosen.” He cleared his throat. “The quill pens… how did you find so many in so short a time?”

The Beast looked a little embarrassed. “Someday I must show you our attics here,” he mumbled. “There are many lost treasures there – even quill pens, made for a left-handed scribe.”

“I would like to see them,” Gimli said, and was surprised to find that he meant it.

They sat together in a silence that had become oddly companionable.

~*~*~

Life at the palace did not change all at once. But it did change.

The Beast never interrupted Gimli when he was writing, but they nonetheless began to meet more often each day. Gimli’s weapons practice was now as likely to be with the Beast as with Tauriel, although the Beast only used his own, unarmed strength in their bouts. 

“Weaponry wouldn’t come easily to you, I suppose,” Gimli remarked idly.

The Beast froze momentarily, for so fleeting a moment that Gimli could perhaps have convinced himself that he had imagined it. But he knew he had not.

“No,” the Beast said with seeming calm, “no, my claws are useless for gripping and wielding a weapon.”

“They make formidable weapons in themselves,” Gimli said, casting an appraising eye over the Beast. “And you wield them well.”

“Since I could not be rid of them, I decided to learn to use them,” said the Beast. “But I confess I would have preferred a weapon with a greater range.”

Gimli hummed in thought. “Have you tried a crossbow?” he asked after a moment.

“I do not have one,” the Beast replied. It was not an answer, but Gimli let it go.

~*~*~

One day the Beast showed Gimli the palace library.

Gimli had been accustomed to the library of Erebor, which was held in a great cavern far beneath the surface of the mountain. But he had never dreamed that a building could contain almost as many books, let alone within a single room. He turned slowly in a full circle, mouth fallen open in his wonder.

“How do I reach the upper shelves?” he asked, in a voice that sounded strange to his own ears.

“I could fetch you a box,” mused the Beast. Gimli shot a fierce glance at the Beast, who merely chuckled.

“No, my good Gimli, I do but tease you. There is a set of stairs set upon wheels, which may be moved to any part of the lower room. And for the upper portion, above the balconies, there are ladders.

Gimli nodded, still a little wide-eyed. “Are they organised at all?”

The Beast’s brow furrowed. “I am not certain. It has been… a very long time since I looked at them.”

“No doubt,” Gimli said, a little distracted. “You – Oh! You have a copy of _Darkness in the Deep_!” He pulled the book out with delight. “I didn’t think you’d have any books of the Dwarves, to be honest.”

“I did not know we had that one,” the Beast admitted.

“You haven’t read it, then?”

In answer, the Beast spread his claws wide. “These were not made for turning pages,” he said.

“That’s a shame - it’s a wonderful story,” Gimli said, flipping through and smiling at the familiar illustrations. A thought struck him, and he lifted his head. “I could read it to you, if you would like?”

The Beast appeared startled. “That would be… you need not, although…” he stammered.

“No, but it’s a crying affront that you don’t know this tale,” Gimli said, dropping down into a nearby armchair. After a long pause, the Beast seated himself also, tentatively.

Gimli could not help smiling as he opened the book. “Look,” he said. “The frontispiece is intact!” He showed the Beast the picture of a Dwarf clad in shining mail – printed in black ink, a delicate wash of colour had been added by the unknown artist. “The image is a little romanticised, but the armour is quite well-drawn,” he said judiciously.

The Beast nodded approvingly. “Very often artists do not understand armour and weaponry,” he said.

“‘Once upon a time,’” Gimli began, “‘far beneath the Misty Mountains cold, there lay the greatest kingdom of the Dwarves. For the reigns of six Durins it grew ever stronger…’”

“Six Durins?” interrupted the Beast.

“Durin was the Father of the Longbeard line – my clan, if you like. He has returned to live among us six times,” Gimli explained. He cleared his throat. “‘But when Durin was, for the sixth time, Lord of Khazad-Dum, there came a great peril upon the Dwarves. Until this time, the Dwarves of Khazad-Dum had been the greatest of clans, and had even forged friendships with the Elves of Hollin, the nearby land. In this time, it was not the fault of the Dwarves that the friendship failed…’”

“I have not heard that it was the fault of the Elves,” the Beast said, interrupting again with a frown.

“You have not heard this story at all!” Gimli snapped, exasperated. “And we will be here all night if you do not let me tell it!”

“Forgive me, Gimli,” the Beast apologised, smiling crookedly. “It shall be as you wish.”

~*~*~

Gimli still took his meals alone. The Beast had refused to let Gimli see him eat; having seen him in battle Gimli could understand why. The sight of the Beast tearing at the spiders tooth and claw had given him several rather unpleasant dreams, although he was prepared to admit to the effectiveness of the technique. So Gimli ate in his room, and the Beast ate… somewhere else.

Galion kept Gimli company at the evening meal every day, and maintained a ready flow of conversation and gossip that got more scurrilous as Galion became more tipsy. (On one occasion Galion had got extremely drunk, and tearfully confessed his ambition to become a firkin. Gimli had nearly fallen off his chair, he’d laughed so hard.) It was still puzzling that a decanter could be inebriated in the first place, but Gimli tried not to over-think it. In any case, it was pleasant to have the companionship.

But after dinner, Gimli and the Beast would meet again – sometimes in the library, sometimes in the small hall – and read, or talk, or simply sit together in silence. The Beast had learned not to ask about Gimli’s poetry, but sometimes Gimli would read it to him.

~*~*~

The Beast began to sing. At first, he only hummed a little, so softly Gimli could not be sure he had not imagined it. But with the encouragement of silence (for Gimli was not certain that comment would be welcome), scraps of lyrics began to emerge. He almost never produced a complete song –often there would be several verses linked together, but before the song had ended the melody would have trailed off and then reformed into something different.

Gimli knew none of the songs the Beast sang, but he did not mind. The sound was soothing, and strangely beautiful.

One song though, was different. Indeed, it could barely be called a song, for the Beast did not seem to have a good memory for lyrics, and it was barely more than a crooned fragment with words surfacing at intervals. But it haunted Gimli, the few times he heard it.

Finally, he could bear it no longer.

“What is that song?”

The music died mid-note. The Beast’s eyes were wide, and startled.

“It is nothing,” he answered eventually. “It is just… a song of this place.”

“This place?” Gimli asked. “You mean this palace? Or the woods?”

“The palace,” the Beast said slowly. “It tells of a long-ago time… but I have forgotten much of the song.” 

“It has an unhappy tune,” Gimli mused. “What was the story it told?”

The Beast blinked several times. “It – ah – it was… about a prince,” he said, stumbling over the words. “Who… lived here. Once. Long-ago.”

Gimli’s eyes narrowed fractionally. The Beast might not have been lying, exactly, but he was definitely hiding something.

“And this prince – he died, did he?”

“He… his actions were not wise,” said the Beast. “He made enemies. And he fell… cursed… into the shadows.”

“Ah,” Gimli sighed. “No wonder the tune is so sad, then. He cannot have been happy, this prince.”

“He was very lonely.” The Beast paused. “After the curse came upon him, he was trapped away from the world for many years.”

“Perhaps that was a good thing, if he was… shadowed… as you say.”

The Beast turned his face away. “Perhaps it was.”

~*~*~

Wargs came near to the palace twice more, and were driven off by Gimli, the Beast, Tauriel, and others of the palace guard. When giant spiders were reported near, though, Gimli was excused from the fighting force.

“Do not waste yourself on such creatures,” the Beast said gravely. “We have sufficient numbers to deal with them without you.” 

Tauriel was blunter. “You fight Wargs with your head in the right place for a battle,” she told Gimli. “But you fight spiders in a blind panic. I don’t want to lose warriors because you’ve lost your head and left your side open to attack.”

Gimli could hardly deny it. And secretly, he was rather glad that he would not have to see the spiders again; the first encounter still haunted his waking dreams. But the departure of the fighters left Gimli feeling oddly alone.

He could, of course, have made his way down to the kitchens, where Cenadhril would have fussed over him and fed him tea and biscuits. If he had instead gone down to the wine cellar, Galion would undoubtedly have opened a cask of Dorwinion wine for him to sample and approve. 

But for reasons that he could not have explained, Gimli went not down but up. He climbed stair after stair, wandering the hallways of the palace as if aimlessly, but always moving up, up through the levels of the palace.

Six flights, seven flights… A hallway of portraits caught his eye as he walked, and he stopped to examine them. They depicted elves, depicted in a variety of styles but clearly related by blood, as the resemblance was strong between them. Gimli was drawn to one in particular, the last in the line. 

A leafy coronet circled his brow, pale hair streamed down over his tunic, and ice-blue eyes regarded Gimli with a kind of arrogant disdain. Despite the agelessness of elves, something in his expression suggested youth, but there was something… Gimli frowned, trying to work out what was bothering him about the portrait, but it eluded him.  
Nonetheless, he could not resist a glance back over his shoulder as he continued.

There was an arched doorway a little further along the hallway from the portrait gallery, and Gimli glanced in idly as he passed. The room within was well-kept, he noted with surprise. Although sparsely furnished, the windows were draped with sheer lengths of white silk, which would have shown the merest speck of dust on their glossy surfaces.  
Gimli’s eye was caught by the mirror which hung on the far wall. A frame of gleaming gold surrounded it – gold veneer on carved wood, he realised, but still impressive. The mirror itself was a large oval, polished smooth and even, and the reflections in its depths were as clear as the finest rock pools Gimli had ever seen.

The rock pools had mostly not contained the image of a woman’s face, but after this long in the palace, Gimli was almost expecting it.

“Long have I foreseen the coming of one of Durin’s children, Gimli Gloin’s son,” said the woman in the mirror. “I offer my greetings to you.”

“And I greet you also, my lady,” Gimli replied. “You speak as one familiar with my people.”

“In times long past, I knew many such,” the lady said. “When Belegost and Nogrod fell, there was I; when the great Bane fell upon Durin’s folk, I saw and sorrowed. For dark is the water of Kheled-zâram, and cold are the springs of Kibil-nâla, and fair were the many-pillared halls of Khazad-Dûm in Elder Days before the fall of mighty kings beneath the stone.”

“Yet more fair still is the lady of the mirror,” answered Gimli the poet, although his soul was deeply moved by her words. “How comes it that you have such knowledge? For they are many long years distant in the reckoning of my people, yet you speak as one who was there to see them.”

“I have dwelled within this mirror for longer than you may realise,” the lady said. “But although I am bound within this frame, I may cast forth my mind to view that which is, and that which has been, and some things that may yet come to pass. And I may show those scenes to those who stand before me.”

It took Gimli a long moment to realise the implications of her words. “You mean… I could see the same things as you, if I look into the mirror?” He swallowed hard. “Could I see my family?”

The lady blinked slowly. “You could,” she said at last. “Yet remember that the mirror shows many things, and it can be a dangerous guide of deeds.”

“Do you advise me against looking, then?”

“No,” said the lady. “I do not counsel you one way or the other, for seeing is both good and perilous. Yet I think that you have courage and wisdom enough for the venture.”

Gimli breathed deeply. “Aye,” he said at last. “Aye, I would see what you have to show me. Show me my family, if you please.”

The lady’s face vanished from the mirror. At first, Gimli saw only stars.

And then the stars cleared, and he saw what the mirror had to show.

@>\--;----

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So as you can see, my timeline for finishing up this fic Did Not Happen. Real life, alas. Thanks to all of you for your patience, and especially to those of you who left comments and kudos - you inspired me to get cracking and post this chapter. 
> 
> I bet you'd all forgotten about the magic mirror :) Some of the dialogue from this section is lifted out of the chapter 'The Mirror of Galadriel' from 'The Fellowship of the Ring' - I do not own this stuff.
> 
> And for those who are wondering: A firkin, in this case, refers to a small cask (barrel) of wine, with a capacity of 70 imperial gallons or about 318 litres. So Galion basically wants to be able to hold more wine.
> 
> (By contrast, firkins of beer held only 9 imperial gallons. The firkin is also a unit of capacity, and besides alcoholic beverages, was historically used to measure butter, soap, eels and herring. AKA I fell into research. Did I need to know any of this to write this chapter? No I did not.)


End file.
